


Denial.

by contort



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Mentions of like flings n shit but nothing serious like its based around prussia/russia, Possessive Behavior, eventual smut like i wanna take it slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 03:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9158572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contort/pseuds/contort
Summary: Shit just happens, Gilbert's at rock bottom and for some goddamn reason his physical health goes to complete dog shit whenever Russia's does.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I really need to get back into the groove of writing. So sorry for being off for like a whole fucking year but with the move to Australia from Germany and then trying to finish high school as best I could I really didn't have time to sit down and plot this shit out. I really want to finish Lit. and Masterpieces at some point but for now I thought I'd just get this up and running for old times sake.  
> Anyways my lovelies I hope you have had a wonderful NYE and christmas and I wish you all the best for 2017!!!  
> P.S. LMK if you'd like to me continue gotta love that top notch, very dope 'anxiety' aka 'i dont do things if I feel like i fucked it'

Shit just happens.

And sometimes things become fucked up and you become so desperate that you start questioning the aching within your marrow. You question the unexplainable tension in your shoulders when you’ve done nothing for the past few years with nothing to your name but a reputation and a few pitiful stares. Gilbert had nothing, simple as that. His brother’s neighbours had ripped apart, claimed his land and promptly left him without shit to his name. That was fucked up. It was also fucked up how his brother had got in on that too and acted like it was all peachy by labeling Gilbert as ‘East’ and saying he totally had importance in absolutely everything ever. Funny that. He never was allowed to say a word less he start a goddamn riot.

Of course for the first few years Gilbert had been overjoyed to finally be back with his brother. He’d been grateful for all the younger nation did for him, how he worked to keep him on his feet, aided him in maintaining some of that discipline and sense of responsibility he used to bend over backwards and spread his ass cheeks for back in the day. But again, shit happens, you lose your motivation and sense of reason and after a while the honeymoon phase dies along with your pride. And it did, oh god did it. Unintentional disgust, regret and disappointment began to flash behind Ludwig’s eyes after a while and burning resentment began to poison the albino’s nerves like wild fire. 

It was as if Ludwig, nein, it was as if _Germany_ realised whom his brother was or rather whom he once was and was repulsed.  
It was fucked up the brothers couldn’t share the same air anymore.  
It was also fucked up that Gilbert was long since past the point of caring. Couldn’t give less of a fuck to be exact.  
What was more fucked up was the fact he kept speaking in Russian when he wasn’t okay.

So yeah, shit just happens.

 

x

 

Meetings were rarely anything worthwhile, it was a fact of life and it was something the nations accepted without acknowledging but used as an excuse to start screaming at each other as soon as the opportunity arose. Gilbert went along for the fun of it. He only really graced the world with his presence to hear the beef, kick back and enjoy the show with a grin on his face and a drink in his hands. However with aching muscles and a stuffy head, or whatever unknown disease he’d caught from sucking off Roderich the week prior, he just couldn’t get in the groove of it all.

So he journeyed off to the bathroom without excusing himself as England called somebody a cunt and Australia high fived the shorter nation beside him (whose name he could not remember but was #1 in the secret book of ‘Countries I love like I love my dogs’ author: Ludwig Beilschmidt) who promptly went for the brunette’s face with a satisfied grin settling across his own and yeah. Nothing new. He was able to piss in relative peace for all of 4 seconds before somebody came in behind him to bask in his defunct glory. He nearly lost control of how he was holding his cock when he looked up to the lethargic smile of the Russian Federation and it almost resulted in him losing his aim and urinating all over his leg.

Good thing he was a better individual than that with a tad bit more self-respect than that thank you very much and he would not make such a fool of himself.  
He would, however, endure the uncomfortable experience of peeing in silence of somebody he generally didn’t communicate with as a rule and he would do it like a man up until he were graced with the opportunity to retreat to the sink. Unfortunately Russia happened to decide to join him.

Gilbert kept his eyes down as he washed his hands, focusing solely on the way his fingers folded between each other to work the suds off the skin. They’d both been doing so for a couple of solid minutes before Prussia gave in first and shut off the water, he looked up into the mirror, their eyes meeting in their reflections and he frowned. The bags under the Russian’s eyes mimicked his own, unhealthy and pallid.

Actually the physical states they were both in were strangely alike, they both looked like complete and utter shit.  
As if it were the same sickness.  
As if they shared the same land.  
The albino’s ribs ached and he grimaced. Ugh.

“You’re not taking care of yourself Russland.”

 Tired violets almost smiled.

“I’m not getting enough sleep is all.”

“It’s more than that.”

Russia’s reflection stared at him curiously, his taciturnity never-ending and seemingly pensive. “Gilbert… You can still feel me, can’t you?”

The only sound in the bathroom was the water dripping off their fingertips; not even their breathing was audible. The tension was asphyxiating as ghostly digits wormed into the space between them and made it static where it claimed. He could almost taste the bittersweet unspoken and unseen suggestion. Gilbert turned with a whisper of sole against linoleum, he had the intention of just staring the taller male down for a while until he left him alone but found himself rolling onto his toes and combing his fingers in the Russian’s hair and god when he pressed his mouth against Russia’s he could have cried for mercy. Like a man parched for water, or starved for food, he found a small salvation to satiate that cavernous hole that had been sucking at his very bone marrow and corroding right through all the grey matter that comprised his being.

It made him feel sick, but he’d be damned if he stopped there. The albino pressed a little deeper against those lips that had responded to him instantly with a gracious sigh. Large hands were at his hips and Russia’s lips practically devoured his own. He bit down until he broke skin and he pulled away with copper against his gums for his tongue to acquaint itself with the once familiar taste.

 “You should go.”

The taller nation stared down at him speechless for a while; the eye contact between them was unnerving if the Prussian were to be honest. Slowly, Russia had moved from his spot, his lips flattening as if to hide a smile and he adjusted his hair for a split second on his way to the door.

Russia paused for a moment, fingers drumming against the doorframe before he spoke up. “It was good to see you again, Gilbert.”

The Prussian turned back to the mirror once the door had clicked shut and took his time drying his hands. His eyes still on his reflection and he could have sworn somebody had slipped something in his coffee because it looked as if there were faint flecks of pale violet bleeding out amongst a sea of crimson.

 “What the fuck.”

 

x

 

He kept the windows cracked open when he showered. Tightly rolled towels lined the bottom of the bathroom door to prevent anything from slipping out from the crack as he nursed his cigarettes under the water. He lost count of how many got wet and were consequentially disposed of down the drain for another. Gilbert remained ignorant to the fact he had drained all of the hot water by the time he’d finished half the carton. His neck was aching again, muscles screaming under the tension that waxed and waned without any particular right or reason. He sighed, rubbed his neck and tried to ignore the fact he’d lost more than enough time just pissing around trying to find the right angle for him to smoke and wash his hair at the same time.

 That’s what it was all about now, killing time since it obviously wasn’t going to kill him any time soon and he had more than enough hours in the week that were spent lying on his mattress and staring up at the ceiling when he had nothing else to do. It wasn’t that he pitied himself, it was more about the fact that he couldn’t particularly zone out over the sound of Ludwig pounding Feliciano’s “desperate little ass” as dictated by the aforementioned blonde on most nights.

No matter how loud he turned up his music, they would always manage to be louder. So… much… louder. He tried beating off to it on one singular occasion because why the fuck not but it felt a lot too weird. Y’know, blood related and shit like that. It just wasn’t his cup of tea. Not to mention that one solitary time he decided to give the meat stick a bit of love, all the while trying to convince himself he did not have his hand on his dick as his brother got laid, he happened to hear an overly masculine ‘woof’ and was suddenly misfortunate enough to know who was doing the whipping and who was on their knees playing as the beefy German Shepard.  
He really couldn’t look at Feliciano the same way ever again.

Anyway, he wasn’t given jobs to do at that point. No office work, no side job, zilch, nil, nothing. Then again, the last time he’d been involved in anything to do with his brother’s government he’d nearly pissed himself laughing once he realised just how low Ludwig was lowering himself to, mouth wide open to catch the shit from between America’s ass cheeks. “I honestly thought I was a disappointment, and I guess I am, but Luddy.” Gilbert had been staring in disbelief down at the stacks of paper under his nose. The name signed on the bottom of half of the official documents was still childish. “At least I’m not bendin’ and spreadin’ for the good ole U.S of A’s freedom stick. This is bad.” Same shit different day, except he was denied access to anything official after that. That’d been enough to get him sent out. He deemed his own existence a successful one after that, grabbed a box of beers and fucked off over the border to Denmark for a couple of days. He did that a few times. Actually he did that a lot. For example;

“Gil, I think even Russia gave you more than that when you were the Soviet cock sheath.” Denmark had said in disbelief at one point, the other Nordic nations had cut their proclaimed ringleader a look. Gilbert had shrugged and kicked his feet up onto the table.

“So he did.” Gilbert muttered, claiming the Dane’s drink for himself before launching into a conversation about absolutely sweet fuck all.

Ah yes.

 _That_ was another tricky story these days, particularly over the past decade. It was one he didn’t touch with a 60-foot pole and would refuse to even be in the same continent of if he had a choice. He faded back into reality and was well aware of the heaviness under his eyes first before anything else, then came the sore muscles in his neck and arms, then the sharpness of cold water points stabbing into his hypersensitive skin like needles. He was lucky to sleep if he weren’t spending his Fridays through to Mondays being awake and refusing to fucking move regardless of what Ludwig said because he hated the beginning of the week, the end of the week and the weekends when people just had to swing by to keep Ludwig company when he really didn’t need it when he had two fucking dogs and a loud boyfriend. The exhaustion was ceaseless. Both of the Italian brothers and Spain’s seemingly constant states of narcolepsy were something to envied.

He was so exhausted.  
He got the feeling Russia really was too.

Gilbert rested his head against the bathroom walls as ice cold water swirled at his feet. He couldn’t feel it anymore, he hadn’t been able to for years by that point. The loss of sensation was the least of his problems, after all what more could a walking cadaver expect?

“Nichts.” He bitterly answered for himself, flicking his successfully finished cigarette out the window and sinking his nails into his scalp.

 

x

 

Germany looked particularly sick whenever Gilbert would start yelling from anger, from despair, or frustration. His words would turn scathing and poisonous, his body vibrating from restraining himself from lashing out when it began to escalate out of control. His strings of curses and caustic sentences were communicated in Slavic tongue and he didn’t seem to notice. After a while he did and he stopped talking for days, weeks even.

“I prefer you when you’re overly irritating, this is too strange Gilbert.” Roderich had stated as the albino made himself a cup of too strong coffee to haul away the need to sleep. The longer he put it off the harder and longer he’d crash, maybe he could make it last a couple of days. Weren’t people supposed to die after a few days without sleep? People = humans, maybe not then.

Gilbert held his tongue and continued to make his drink. In the vague reflection of the frost bordered windows the albino’s fixed stare on midnight’s tight embrace of the scenery was clearly visible as well as the frown beneath a pair of useless glasses, which stood behind him. The Austrian’s obvious expectation for Gilbert to relent was much too enjoyable to stretch out. The Prussian didn’t feel the need to indulge him but rather took his time peeling at scabs on his knuckles to pass the time until Roderich thankfully fucked right off to whatever hole he had emerged from.

He moved like a ghost throughout his brother's house as he decided upon situating himself outside with the sharp bite of winter air and the conversation of his own thoughts. He needed to escape the trap of meticulously maintained balance within Ludwig's walls that forever threatened to disappear into the gaping rectum of reality whenever somebody acted out of what was considered the norm for their own behaviours. How dare anybody develop as a person, how dare anybody be anything other than what people have come to expect for centuries. The reality was that all of this, these experiences and these occurrences were riddled within nothing but disequilibrium. The intumesce tempest was impossible to avoid as was the fine line between preserving the facade of stability and the inevitable explosion. But Ludwig worked like a machine and he wasn't like the Nordics who had lost their harmony and acted more out of habit than out of true belief of their kind's own  'Big Lie' as Denmark had mentioned after another night claiming he needed a break from everything. He wasn't like England who stopped giving a shit. He wasn't like the majority of them that at some point just gave up on trying to go with the notions of it because there was no point when they were going insane with doing the same thing over and over and over and over....

Ah, whatever. He probably needed to stop hanging out with Denmark. Interesting guy. Capricious moods though. Oooh boy that was understatement, that guy barely really kept a lid on his emotions despite what that ever present charming grin suggested, but it's not like he could really blame him. Fake it to you make it yadda, yadda. 

There was a miscommunication about the location of emotions. People went on about it being the heart, the heart, the heart but in all reality it came from the brain. Nestled within the temporal lobe, the traitorous limbic system carries out emotional processing in the ‘capital’ so to speak of the amygdala. Fun fact. However for some reason when it came to his kind their processes of emotion seemed to be unmercifully fuelled by their hearts- their capitals, their cores. It should have come as no surprise that Gilbert’s tongue was confused when he ended up drunk with extreme emotion.

  
The inhabitants of Kaliningrad Oblast didn’t speak German.


End file.
